


The End of the Little White Lie

by Crazy4Orcas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Community: be_compromised, F/M, Slice of Life, Some bad language, tuna melt casserole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy4Orcas/pseuds/Crazy4Orcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has learned to regret telling Natasha a little white lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the Little White Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [shenshen77](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shenshen77/pseuds/shenshen77) for the beta and cheerleading.

Clint woke slowly, enjoying being able to wake at his own pace. He stretched and reached out a hand, hoping to encounter the soft, warm skin of the sexy red-head he’d gone to bed with. He sighed when his touch met cool sheets instead, Natasha must have been out of bed for a while. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to get his brain in gear. He was feeling a bit fuzzy headed and slow, not unusual for the first day home after an extended mission. Sitting up, he ran his hands through his hair and scratched at his scalp.

He heard noises coming from outside the bedroom and listened, fervently hoping Natasha wasn’t in the kitchen. Now noticing the scent of something cooking, Clint’s shoulders slumped and he dropped his head into his hands. The sound of the oven door closing echoed in his mind like a gun shot, he flopped back onto the bed and groaned. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Over the last several years, he’d come to dread his first meal after returning from a long trip.

When Natasha had first defected and joined SHIELD, she started looking for something to claim as her own. Something she could spend time doing simply because she wanted to and not for the job. She’d tried out a few different hobbies and for a time had thought she’d enjoy cooking. He couldn’t remember a single meal she’d put together that had turned out like she’d wanted. Ultimately, and thankfully in his opinion, she’d decided it wasn’t for her. But by the time she’d moved on to knitting, Clint had made the grave mistake of telling Natasha he loved her tuna melt casserole and ever since then she insisted on making it for him whenever he came back from a lengthy mission.

At least this time he’d been able to buy himself an overnight reprieve. When they’d returned to their apartment after his debriefing, he hadn’t given her a chance to even step toward the kitchen. He’d kissed her and backed her into the bedroom as soon as the front door closed. They’d spent an intense night making up for their time apart. He’d even done that thing with his tongue that she loved. Twice. She’d certainly been appreciative and he could still feel the ghost sensation of her hands fisted in his hair and hear the echo of her moans.

And now she was making him his welcome home meal. “Fuck,” he muttered again. Gathering his resolve he got up, pulled on a pair of jeans and reluctantly made his way to the kitchen.

Natasha was wearing one of his old t-shirts, her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head, hips swaying slightly, keeping time with the music on the radio. Clint came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled the side of her neck. “Good afternoon, sunshine.”

She turned to him and smiled, “Good afternoon, sleepyhead.” She kissed him quickly once, and then again, before turning back to the steaming casserole on the counter. “Why don’t you get us something to drink and have a seat. Lunch is almost ready.”

He started his coffee brewing and the water boiling for her tea. He also poured them both orange juice and set the table. After doctoring the tea the way she liked and pouring his coffee black, he took the mugs to the table and sat down. Clint took a few deep breaths to focus and gave himself a silent pep talk. He could get through this, he’d been through a hell of a lot worse, it was just a meal.

Resisting the urge to grimace when Natasha set a plate with a huge serving of casserole in front of him, he simply smiled at her and said, “It looks good.” She set down her own plate with a much smaller portion and sat beside him.

“I tried something a little different this time, I hope you like it.”

He took a bite and was extremely proud that he managed not to choke or gag. This had to be her worst tuna melt casserole yet. It might even be the worst thing he’d ever tasted and he’d eaten some truly vile things in his life. Clint swallowed, took a palate cleansing sip of his coffee, dredged up a smile and nodded at Natasha. “Mmm, it’s great,” he said.

She smiled at him and there was something about her expression that caught his attention. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but there was a little glint in her eyes, an infinitesimal quirk of her eyebrow and a barely noticeable twitch of her lips. He was just about to chalk it up to a trick of the early afternoon sun coming through the window or the afterglow of the incredible sex they’d had, when something clicked in his mind.

“Son of a bitch,” he dropped his fork on the plate and shoved it away from him. He pointed an indignant finger at Natasha, “You know.”

She looked at him in what was obviously feigned surprise, “Know what?” Clint knew he could read her better than anyone else, but he also knew that if she really wanted to she could put on a mask even he couldn’t see through. So the fact he could tell she was playing him let him know she’d had enough of this particular prank.

“You know I’ve never liked your tuna melt casserole,” he accused. If he hadn’t been so incredibly relieved that he didn’t have to choke down the rest of the meal, he might have been irritated.

“What do you mean?” Natasha looked hurt. “You’ve always said it was your favorite.” Her lower lip quivered and Clint’s gaze was drawn down to her mouth. That little quiver had sent a jolt of desire through him, suddenly nothing mattered but getting closer to her. He stood quickly, pulled her chair away from the table and leaned over her, his hands on the arms of the chair, blocking her in.

“Do that again,” he rasped, his voice husky. She looked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence, and her lip quivered again. Clint bent down and kissed her fiercely, then sucked on her lower lip before slowly releasing it. Natasha moaned and pushed at his chest so she could stand up and wind her arms around his neck as she pressed herself against him.

Much later, after the casserole was thrown out and the pizza they’d ordered had been finished, they lay curled together on the couch watching an old movie.

Natasha was playing with his hands, running her fingers over his knuckles, “I’m so glad you finally admitted you didn’t like that awful casserole.”

“Really? And here I thought I was sparing your feelings.” Clint grunted as she lightly elbowed him in the stomach.

“Well, it was getting harder and harder to make it taste bad without actually poisoning you,” she grinned at him and he couldn’t resist tickling her a little, both of them laughing. “I hope you realize I’m never cooking for you again.”

“I knew it,” Clint said, a smug look on his face.

“Knew what?”

“You do love me.”

**Author's Note:**

> End notes: From a comment on [be_compromised’s All The Things Friday: Getting To Know You](http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/337047.html) where [Frea_O](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Frea_O/pseuds/Frea_O) let us know (from Clint’s perspective) “I lied to Natasha when I said I enjoyed her tuna melt casserole, which was a mistake because she makes it every time I come home from a long trip.” And I replied that Natasha totally knows he lied about liking the casserole and she deliberately makes it worse each time just waiting for him to man up and admit he doesn't like it.


End file.
